Glasses
by Morhighan
Summary: She looked back to the glasses. They were large, unfashionable, and yet she loved them. How she loved them. They had been her husband’s, before...LuXHoT for suggested death.True to original game, ignores Dirge of Cerberus.


**Glasses**

* * *

A thin finger traced the length of the metal skeleton. The touch was tender, loving. Hands turned the frames over repeatedly, carefully making sure to not dirty the glass that was locked in by the frames. As the glasses revolved they revealed the pure light that encased them, along with the "person" who held them.

She had been human once, but now... To distract herself from dark thoughts, she glanced at the faucets of lights that surrounded her.

Her living space was sparse, for she had the glasses and no other possessions. The glasses weren't actually hers; she had unintentionally taken them, along with the only piece of clothing she could stand to wear. The white folds in her dress serenely enfolded her body as she fiddled with the glasses.

Her two only belongings had brought her into a reverie of the past. The dress had been meant for a special occasion. Her job insured that she never wore it for that occasion, instead trading it for a labcoat. As the glasses revolved, the woman observed her surroundings through their reflections. White, pure white. White was cleanly, strong; godly in a world dominated by science. Respected, even feared. She thought back to what had happened to her own lab whites.

The blood had filled the room; filled her vision, her sense of smell. She was bathed in it, could taste it, even hear it as it surged out of the wound.

The memory stopped replaying itself in her head.

_Only temporarily,_ she thought to herself bitterly as the memory reformed itself and began once more.

Soon after that she had disposed of the blood soaked coat. Even when restored to its original pristine state, she could still only see blood on it. She was the only one who had seen it and, at insanity's threshold she decided to leave her bloodstained life to reside within the cave. After the incident all white things seemed stained, impure. She could see the blood everywhere; her skin, her clothing, the clouds in the sky as she fled the blood-soaked walls of her home. Remaining in the cave was the only thing that saved her sanity. The light redeemed her, cleansed her of her wrongs.

White was sacred to the woman, the only remainder of her former life. Her husband's coat, piano keys, tea set and tablecloth in the moonlight, her child's hair. The flesh of her dead friend. The image came quickly, unexpectedly. An abrupt halt to the happy memories. So had her life been for years.

She ignored the memory, looking back to the glasses. They were large, unfashionable, and yet she loved them. They had been her husband's; the only thing she had grabbed before fleeing. So irrational, but there was no turning back the past. Her thoughts turned back to her husband.

Had he gotten old, as her body refused to allow her? Had he remarried? Did he think she was dead? Did he think about her at all? Questions like these made a droning din in her mind, at all times. She wished she could see him. She had remained unchanging in age and appearance because of the procedure, surely the same would have happened to him. And what of their child? Had he remained perpetually young? What was he like? How was his life? The questions would remain unanswered.

Now she thought of her family as a whole. Things could have been so different, but the chaotic, random variables of life had ensured that they weren't.

She realized that she was once more fidgeting with the glasses, which returned her thoughts once more to her husband. How had her departure affected him? The metal arms were extended. She brought the glasses to her face and slipped them on. They rested on her nose, a strange weight. They were so unwieldy that the instant she placed them on her face, her vision became distorted. After a few moments of blinding, blurred white, the pain in her eyes forced her to remove them. So out of date, just like her beloved. Direct and scientist to the core. Still loveable.

The glasses were her most prized possession, despite being stolen.

---

Years had passed, and the woman now slumbered within the crystal walls of her home. She had sealed herself within upon learning of her son's death. By now the whole of the family was dead, each having destroyed themselves and each other.

One man watched on, resisting the pull of time. He had memorized the cavern; he had spent countless hours observing each facetted wall. Something had caught his interest on this particular visit. In one of the crystals something lay within, discarded. He couldn't see what it was at his current angle. He stood. It was nearly time to go anyway. One glance at something in a crystal was all he wanted. He approached unhurriedly, and stood a few feet off from it when he could finally discern what it was.

A pair of glasses. The lenses reflected his wretched form back up at him. He looked up at the woman. He understood.

"I see now," he murmured to her.

* * *

A/N: Well that was sad. I was considering adding a bit at the end about how he leaves the cave forever and never returns etcetera-blah-angst. Anyhoo, don't flame me because Lucrecia loved Hojo. Go play the original game. DoC is pretty, but it is non-canon. My proof? Hojo has a ponytail in the flashbacks, and Vincent's death is way different.

Thanks for reading!


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